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Chapter Nine
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A Present to Rememeber
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"You will explain NOW!" The minister yelled angrily, standing in the doorway of the arch room. Apparently it's activation had triggered some sort of an alarm.
All eyes swiveled to the man standing imposingly before them.
"Kingsley..." Hermione stuttered, before changing her mind, "Minister, I... the Black family had knowledge of the veil not previously available to us. There was a chance... well" she was really not doing well on explaining this.
Taking a deep breath Hermione tried again, "Regulus, Sirius' brother had a working knowledge of the veil passed down through family magic. He wanted to save his brother, ok no, I demanded we save his brother after he stated he knew such things."
She gestured to the two nearly identical men standing to the side of the arch. "Minister Shacklebolt, I present Regulus Black. And, his knowledge was correct, as you can see."
The minister sighed. "Someone summon Auror Potter. He will want to see this." Turning to Hermione he grimaced, "Ms. Granger, clearly I was mistaken." The women looked smug, until he continued, "A vacation is the absolute worst thing to force upon you. And they say Harry has a way of finding trouble!" He proceeded to laugh as the smirk fell from her face, turning to a confused frown.
The Ministers attempt at humor was interrupted by an out of breath Unspeakable, hurrying their way. He was yelling, but was still far enough away the words were unintelligible. As the Unspeakable got closer, however, that problem was resolved. "Minister! Minister! Prophecy 7 has been fulfilled! The prophecy Minister! Prophecy 7–" the man collapsed at Kingsley's feet, as the Minister himself went white as a sheet.
"Please tell me," he said, "that you lot have nothing to do with this?"
He knew by the blank looks all around that no one had any clue what he was talking about. "We are not done with this discussion!" He stated with as much decorum as he could muster while taking off at a breakneck speed, levitating the unconscious Unspeakable behind him.
"Uh, anyone else want to know what prophecy 7 is that's so important?" Neville voiced what was on everyone's mind. No one had time to answer, however, as at that exact moment the boy who had impeccable timing arrived.
He looked at his friends questioningly. "What is so important I was summoned here, of all places?!"
Hermione barely caught the glint in Sirius' eyes before he was bringing whatever crazy idea had popped into his head to life.
Still standing unassumingly by the arch, partially covered from view by Regulus, Sirius began laughing maniacally. Grabbing onto Regulus and smacking his hands on his legs.
"And then I told the guy—", he said loudly, breaking off to look briefly over his shoulder, "oh, hi Harry— " then he looked back at his brother and continued like nothing was out of the ordinary. "I told the guy he had the wrong idea about me, I was not some random pop star with a ridiculous name! I mean Stubby Boardman...wow!" Sirius laughed again, "Can you believe that?! Me!?"
Harry just rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Funny, Sirius."
It took about 5 seconds for what he just said to really be comprehended by his brain. 5 seconds where everyone watched with amusement, enjoying the various looks of confusion that crossed his face. He did a double take, then two. A third. Then his mouth fell open. "Sirius?!"
"Give the man a prize!" The marauder laughed, walking over to wrap his godson up in a hug, complete with a ruffling of hair. "Did ya miss me or something?"
Harry, near tears, admitted just that, "You have no idea! You're not allowed to try to rescue me ever again!" They both laughed at that statement.
"No promises pup." The older man said fondly, "You do have quite the knack for finding trouble."
"Speaking of knacks..." Harry turned to look at Hermione, who just waved back, pretending to know nothing about anything. "Someone has a knack for bringing back the missing these days. Yes, I knew you were up to something Hermione. I didn't even think this was a possibility though... never in a million years. You, my dear, are like," he paused, thinking.
It was Fred, however, who came up with the end of Harry's sentence. "She's like... the Mistress of Life!" Everyone chuckled.
"What would that make me?" Harry asked, only half afraid of the answer.
George stepped forward this time, "Easy. Oh savior of the wizarding world, boy who lived to see many more days, slayer of dark lords." He paused for effect, "Since you are the ying to Miss Grangers Yang, and the other half to her whole... if she is the Mistress of Life then you... you, dear sir, are the Master of Death."
Hermione thought that was funny, but for a different reason than most of their friends.
Dumbledore had left her that 'Tales of the Beedle and the Bard' book , with the deathly hollows connotations. She had researched them extensively.
Harry owned what she believed to be the cloak. He had gained mastership over the Elder Wand, even if he didn't claim it. Also, he possessed the Resurrection Stone, despite the many times he tried to lose it. Thus, according to legend, he was truly the Master of Death. Or could be if he wanted to be.
But her? The Mistress of Life? That was absurd! Bring back three missing people, presumed to be dead, through an accident no less, and apparently the nicknaming process gets a little— dramatic.
Regardless, she decided to play along. Walking up to George, Hermione adopted a serious, haughty tone. "Very well, from now on when you address me, you will do so as Mistress." She declared, looking at him through her eyelashes, before winking. The redhead blushed so hard his face nearly matched his hair.
"Sounds perfect," Regulus called from his spot by the arch, while George was busy trying to retain his composure, "now you can fulfill the other half of your evil plan, Mistress!" He laughed heartily, grinning in anticipation.
Hermione chuckled, she had nearly forgotten about the plan she had jokingly made with Regulus before rescuing Sirius. "Perfect!" She declared with an almost evil grin.
Wordlessly, and without warning, Hermione threw two spells at the oldest Black sibling, sending him flying to the ground. "Hey!" He yelped as he thrashed helplessly on the floor, finding himself bound in silver ropes.
Another spell struck him and he yelled "My hair! Not my hair!" Feeling something happening on his head. More thrashing, "Hermioneeee!"
"That's Mistress, remember?" She chuckled. "Nice bow, by the way."
She conjured a camera, and snapped a picture, or a dozen of the man prone on the floor, with a giant, Slytherin green bow intricately braided into his hair. She knew those hair charms would come in handy some day. "Happy early birthday Harry!"
"You shouldn't have!" He laughed, tears streaming down his face, mouthing "Thank you". She smiled softly at her best friend, and nodded. She was so happy to have been able to pull this off for him.
"You really shouldn't have!" Sirius echoed, glaring, "I will get you for this! —And your little cat too!"
It was at that point Hermione realized she had forgotten something. After all, no birthday present was complete without a card! She waved her wand once again. At first nothing appeared to be happening, then a piece of what appeared to be duct tape flew out of her wand, and landed over Sirius' mouth. Upon inspection, it was inscribed: "To Harry 3 Hermione".
"Perfect!" She nodded, taking one last picture. Then, without bothering to free the man on the floor, she traipsed out of the room, humming 'happy birthday' to the sound of raucous laughter.
Hermione had a feeling that she had just started a prank war of epic proportions. But, in her opinion, it was worth it.
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Meanwhile in the Hall of Prophecies
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He thought being Minister would be easy. Okay, maybe not easy, but easier than this. Their world had just ended a war that spanned decades, the people could breathe easier now, get back to being happy and all that jazz. It should have been, well— whatever it should have been...was not this.
Of course, he was made aware of the 7th prophecy when he became minister, but as a part of Merlin's Seven Prophecies, unfulfilled for millennia, he was assured that there was virtually no chance they'd be fulfilled during his time as Minister. That assurance, it seemed, was incorrect. At least for the Seventh prophecy. Fulfilled this very morning.
That fact itself was worrying, as the only records on file about the first 7 prophecy's in the hall was that they were made by Merlin himself—Merlin, who devised a way of recording prophecies inside Chrystal balls. One that no one could access but those involved in the prophecy— and that they were a sort of countdown, to what no one had thought to record.
Thanks Merlin!
So, now that the 7th prophecy had been fulfilled, they would have to search for the people involved in said prophecy. Then they, if luck was on their side, would be able to see its contents— and maybe the contents of the other six. Then, and only then, could he know just how much trouble the wizarding world was in for now,
The only problem, ok not the only problem... the most difficult part of the problem, was finding the people in the prophecy. As they were labeled only as the "Mistress of Life" and the "Master of Death". That just sounded so— pleasant.
But, as Minister, he had to do it. Luckily he knew the smartest Unspeakable in the land. Hopefully she was still inside the ministry.
"To Hermione," he instructed his patronus, "Please meet me in the Hall of Prophecies at you're earliest convenience."
After all these years, the little Lynx that was his patronus still awed him. As he watched it stalk away, he sat down and placed his head in his hands with an exhausted sigh.
Seconds later a voice cheerily announced, "The Mistress of Life, at your service!" and the room went black.
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Hermione rushed to the Ministers side. Sending a quick patronus to Harry, begging him to come quickly. She cast a renervate, wondering just what was going on.
Why had her old friend reacted like that? And then she spotted the orb on the table.
"What's going on?" Harry gasped, running into the room. Eyes wide, Hermione pointed at Kingsley, who was just beginning to stir, then at the crystal ball on the table.
"The Mistress of Life... and the Master of... seriously?" He broke off, in anger.
Harry, looked up at the ceiling, like he was ranting to the Heavens. "I just want one normal year! I mean... my parents... Voldemort... the stupid stuff at school... the man who wouldn't stay dead... Auror training... rounding up renegade minions of the dead lord... now this?!" He gestured to the orb, "What now?!"
Now crouching to the ground, he stared upward once again. Hands raised, he asked, "What do you want from me?" in the most exasperated voice Hermione had ever heard come from him.
"What now indeed." Kingsley echoed in shock.
Hermione, eyes wide, but determined nonetheless, reached for Harry's hand and pulled him back to a standing position. "Not you," She said, staring into his eyes, "Us." She paused for a moment, giving him a brief smile, "Whatever it is, we will handle it like we do best—together."
He bobbed his head, resigned, as she placed their entwined hands on the crystal ball, and they were thrust into its depths.
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Much like a pensieve, the crystal balls record events, that can be observed but not interacted with. What you see is what you get, sometimes fortunately, sometimes unfortunately.
This case was definitely the latter, at least for Hermione. What she would give to be able to converse with Merlin himself, who they suddenly found themselves thrust before.
"He doesn't look anything like his pictures," Harry commented of the young, dark haired man in the unremarkable stone room before them.
The man had hair of a reddish brown so dark it was almost black. Straight, and flatteringly cut to accentuate his well defined face. High cheekbones rested underneath the palest skin, highlighting the depths of his bright blue-green eyes, surrounded by long, dark lashes, all peeking out from behind the long fringe that was his bangs.
When he spoke, it was nearly musical:
"The Master of Death,
And the Mistress of Life,
Their Scarlett haired pair,
And their pair dark as night.
Three had been lost,
As the Master claimed his title,
Three have been found
Despite the Mistress' Denial.
New lives begin
as fate and time bend.
What's past has passed,
But cannot be completed
Until the time, lost in time
When the last piece is eaten.
The titles thus bestowed,
The countdown begins
A chain of events,
Ending Within."
The young Merlin, coming from his trance, then appears to look right at them as they are thrust from the orb, his last words echoing around them. "Good luck."
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They had disappeared into the orb on the table, right in front of his eyes. Kingsley had had the sneaking suspicion that they were involved with this, as soon as the news had reached his ears of the prophecy being fulfilled. He, like Harry, had been hoping for an uneventful year, but it seemed it was not meant to be.
And so, the Minister of the British Wizarding world waited, with baited breath, for the two young people he had grown to be so fond of to reappear from the depths of the orb.
